Eternal Flame
by Angels-Protegee
Summary: Sequel to "From the Ashes" - With the birth of their new daughter, Erik and Vivienne face their greatest trial yet, but leaving the past behind isn't so easy when it marks the new generation.
1. Chapter 1

**Remember how I said after "From the Ashes" that I was finally ready to move on from Erik and Vivienne? Yeah...I lied. As it turns out, there's still more to their story, and they won't let me rest until it's over!**

_Vivienne_

"You're nearly there, Madame. Come on, now, one more push!"

It was every bit as terrible as the first two times when the twins were born, but I wasn't as scared now as I was then. I knew that after the pain and the agony, only joy and relief would follow. Erik's voice rang in my ears as before, offering what comfort and encouragement he could and holding my hand in his—or rather, allowing me to crush his fingers in a death grip all over again. "It's almost over, little phoenix," he assured me. "You can do it, come on!"

There was one last cry from me, then the wail of a newborn. It had been long enough since Ren and Annelise were babies that I had come to miss that sound, and I smiled faintly to know what it meant. "Is it a boy or a girl?" I asked Mme. Fontaine.

"It's a girl," she replied. "It's—it's a girl, Madame."

Erik and I both paused, not only at the midwife's hesitation but at the guarded, sober note in her voice. "What is it?" he asked, moving from my side to Mme. Fontaine. The baby still cried, but there was silence between the two of them, the first since I awoke that night and gone into labor, and my heart filled with dread. "Erik?"

He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, blinking rapidly before turning away. And I knew.

There was a crushing weight on my chest, like a giant hand squeezing tighter and tighter. I couldn't look away from him, his back to me and his shoulders bowed. _Why, God? _I prayed silently. _How could You do this to him, and to our child? _A lump rose in my throat, making it hard to breathe, but I swallowed with tremendous effort and held out my arms. "Let me hold my daughter, Madame."

She wrapped the infant in a blanket and handed her to me. I blinked away my own tears as I gathered her to me and gathered my courage as well. With a heavy heart, I looked down at my baby girl.

Ren and Annelise both took after Erik in some ways, in looks and personality, but neither of them shared his deformity. The child I held wasn't so easily spared. She was a tiny, wrinkled little thing like most newborns, but her face…her innocent face…it wasn't fair that this brand new life should already look prepared for death! The extent of her disfigurement wasn't as bad as Erik's, but it was enough. Her nose was hardly there at all, what should have been twin plump cheeks was instead a mismatch of flesh on one side and skin-and-bone on the other. She didn't have a sunken eye, but her little lips were almost nonexistent, just a bit of withered skin.

_But she's mine, _I told myself, _mine and Erik's, and she's whole and healthy and _ours. I swallowed my tears. For Erik's sake and my daughter's, I would have to be strong. I might as well start now. "Hello, little one," I crooned down at her. "I'm so glad you're here! We've been wanting to meet you for so long!"

Mme. Fontaine set about cleaning things up, then said, "I'll leave you to get acquainted with each other." She offered no condolences or spouted superstitions. She had simply accepted what happened with a level head, and I was grateful to her for that. I nodded my thanks to her and she left the room.

Erik hadn't moved or even turned around, still standing with his back to me. I could only guess how he must feel and it hurt me so much to know how he had been hurt by this. "Erik," I said softly, "come say hello to our daughter. Come see her."

"I've already seen her, Vivienne," he said, his voice broken up with barely controlled emotion.

I held her even closer to me, hoping to shield her from the pain that filled the room. "Erik, please—"

"Vivienne," he interrupted. "Just—don't say anything right now. Please."

I closed my eyes wearily. He still had his back to me, shutting me out. It had been so long since he held me at a distance, and I hated to see him do it now after all this time. "Would you bring the twins in?" I asked. "They won't go back to bed until they meet their sister." It had been hard enough to keep them from the room during the birthing, and there was no way they would wait until morning to see the baby.

He left the room without a word and I opened my eyes and looked down at her again. The sight of those strange features didn't trouble me. They were only a softened version of Erik's, and there was no face on earth I loved the way I loved his. But when I thought of all the pain and misery it had brought him, misery I had no part of and could never fully understand, I couldn't help but share his fear and heartache. There was no question that I loved my little girl and would do anything for her, but the eyes of the world rarely looked with a mother's love.

Erik led Ren and Annelise into the room, his gravity sharply contrasted with their excitement. Both of them had awoken when I went into labor; I could never manage to keep quiet in that bedroom, no matter what the situation! The late hour seemed forgotten, if the light in their eyes was any indication. They rushed to the bedside and would have bounced upon it to join me had Erik not stilled them with a word.

"It's a girl?" Annelise asked. "It really is a girl?"

"Yes, she is," I told her, managing to smile.

"Can we see her?" Ren begged.

"If you promise to be quiet and careful, you can sit on either side of me for a bit," I told them. "You can look at her all you want then."

As seriously as if I had sent them on a mission from Napoleon himself, they cautiously climbed onto the bed and sat, leaning over to see their sister. I glanced surreptitiously at Erik; I wanted him to see his family gathered together before him. Maybe that would ease whatever was inside him.

"She's so small!" Ren said in hushed amazement. "Is she supposed to be that small?"

"Well, I'm certainly glad she wasn't any bigger," I replied archly.

"She looks like Papa!" Annelise crowed.

At the edge of my field of vision I saw Erik cringe, but the twins didn't share in his horror. On the contrary, they didn't mind at all. Their sister's face was simply a fact to them, like their father's, and nothing to be worried about.

If only humanity possessed the innocence of children!

"What's her name?"

I was called back from my musings to see them both looking at me expectantly. "She doesn't have one yet," I told them.

"Why not?" Annelise asked. "She needs one. We can't just call her 'baby' forever."

"It won't make any sense when she's not a baby anymore," Ren added as though stating the obvious.

"Can I pick one for her?" Annelise asked.

"Not fair!" Ren shot at her. "I want to pick!"

"Papa and I already have some names in mind," I cut in, halting the dispute before it began. "We'll tell them to you, and you can agree on which one is best. Does that sound fair enough for the both of you?"

I could tell just by looking at them that it didn't, but they knew better than to argue about it and nodded in resignation. "Can we do it right now?" Ren asked cautiously, already predicting the answer.

"In the morning," Erik said, speaking at last. "Your mother is very tired, and you both need to get back to bed."

"Can I give her a kiss goodnight?" Annelise asked.

The tears I thought I had swallowed sneaked back up on me and I nodded. "Be very gentle with her," I cautioned. One after another, they leaned over the baby in my arms and gave her the most delicate of kisses, but no less sincere for all that. I kissed each of them in turn, my best beloved chicks, and they left the room with a final goodnight.

I cleared my throat awkwardly and said, "She'll need a feeding before bed."

"Of course." There was no color, no emotion in his voice, and his tone was flat and detached. It didn't fool me. If anything, it revealed more than if he'd let everything he was keeping to himself out. He wouldn't let me share this burden with him, not this time.

"At least it wasn't another set this time," I said, trying to cheer him with a halfhearted joke.

"Oh yes," he agreed. "Imagine two innocent children with a blight like that."

"Erik, please—"

"I love her, Vivienne," he interrupted. "Don't ever doubt how much I love her. She's mine no matter what. Just look at her! I'll never be able to deny her."

"Ours, Erik," I reminded him. "She's ours, and I wouldn't dream of denying her."

"I never said you would. But—" his voice broke and he took a step away from us. "Vivienne, look at her! I did that to her! You can't imagine what she's going to endure, and I'll be the one to have put her through it! It's my fault!"

I was so weak and so exhausted, but somehow I found the willpower and the strength to keep fighting. "You can't imagine, either," I told him. "She won't have to suffer as you did because you and I won't let her. We'll love her and be there for her no matter what."

"But there's only so much we can do to protect her," he insisted. "We can't hold back the world, little phoenix. It was bad enough for me, but for a young woman? Oh God, Vivienne, when I think of what more hell she'll have to go through—"

For the first time in years, I remembered back to that night we met, when he found me in the Opera cellars after that stranger on the street raped me. I thought of the tears and the nightmares and looked down at the scars I still bore on my wrists from my failed suicide attempt, and I was sick with fear for my daughter. Terrible as it was, I would have borne it again a thousand times over with a smile on my face if it meant sparing her from it.

I didn't say it aloud, though. It wouldn't have done Erik any good to hear it, but I had no idea what would help. He blamed himself, and that's all that was clear to me. I extended my hand to him, and after awhile he took it and sat on the edge of the bed, though he still wouldn't look at the baby.

"It's not your fault," I told him gently. "You can't help the way you were born, and you can't help it if our little girl takes after you."

"How selfish must I be to bring a child into this world looking like that?" he asked. "I knew what she could look like, just like I knew what the twins could look like. I just thought if Ren and Annelise looked—normal, that must mean it was all right, that I was just a fluke and I wouldn't pass it on to any of my children. What's wrong with me, Vivienne? It wasn't enough that I'm diseased, I had to make sure it spread."

"Erik, that's enough. Look at me." He turned to me and I leaned forward and gave him the fiercest, most passionate kiss I could manage under the circumstances. He moved closer and put his arm around me to steady me, then gently drew away and rested his head on my shoulder. "You are not diseased," I went on, "and neither is our daughter. I have no more inkling of what the future holds than you do, but we'll have to just face it as it comes."

He sighed. "You're right, as always," he said heavily. "And you think I should know that at my age."

"You're too old to know everything," I teased.

He smiled wearily as he straightened up and kissed me on the cheek. "Now, what's wrong with this picture?" he asked. "You just gave birth! I should be the one comforting you! You need to rest, little phoenix."

"It can wait a few more minutes," I replied. I loosened my night gown enough to bare my breast and began to nurse the infant I held. "This really was the last one," I said. "I mean it this time. I'm not doing anything like that again."

"Well, pregnancy comes with a caveat, Vivienne," he said. "Especially when I have a hand in conception."

"Yes," I agreed. "As if the world needs one more moody, surly, sarcastic genius."

"Or one more sideshow freak to send them running away in horror."

"Erik, I just gave birth," I reminded him, "but if you can't keep that cynicism in check, I will get out of this bed and give you the thrashing of a lifetime."

He chuckled softly. "That might be a feat to witness. You're only encouraging my cynicism with a threat like that when you can barely stand as it is."

"Well, if I can't actually get out of bed, I'll just settle for a powerful tongue lashing."

"You promise?"

I gave him a shove and turned my eyes back to the baby. I was falling asleep sitting up, but I could stay awake a little longer just to hold her close to me. She was ours, and I was already hopelessly in love with her to the point of insanity. "What names did we like the best, so the twins can choose?" I asked.

"We'll worry about that in the morning," he replied. "Right now, you need your sleep."

I nodded and finished nursing, and after a moment's hesitation, he held out his hands. "I'll take her, little phoenix. I'll watch over her."

I nodded again and gave her over to him. He stayed beside me on the bed, cradling her against his chest, and I could see the conflict going on. He still felt responsible for what happened to her, and held himself at a greater distance than he had when Ren and Annelise were born, but he still loved her and wanted to protect her. I knew he would die for any of his children, and she was no exception. He wouldn't come to terms with how she was born right away, but he would in time.

I was nearly asleep when he spoke. "Celine," he said. "Her name should be Celine."

_Perfect…_I knew in that instant that no matter how rough the road ahead became, he would walk it for her sake. I gave him a smile. "The twins will be so disappointed," I informed him, then I gave in to my weariness.

* * *

_Erik_

I was furious with God and disgusted with myself. Was He tired of letting the gargoyle he created be happy and desperate for another laugh at his expense? And what about my daughter? Why did she have to bear the distortions of her father, as if in punishment for his earlier sins? Is that what it was? Retribution for my crimes?

I sat next to Vivienne as she slept and held little Celine in my arms, guarding them both. I looked down at my little phoenix, her face still pale with flushed patches from labor. Her heart was in the right place—indeed, it belonged to our children, as mine did—but she just couldn't understand…I could never make her know what I had lived through because of my face, or how much I blamed myself for our daughter's. Common sense told me it was just a case of genetics, a matter of chance, really, but that would mean it was all an accident. I could live with that in my case, but I refused to term my daughter as such. But then, if she wasn't an accident, then why? Why had she inherited my curse?

My thoughts were running around in circles and it took a force of will to shake their spiral. I told myself to lay it aside for now and just remember that I had been blessed with a child, my third! Even in my wildest dreams in the darkest hours of isolation and torment, I had never envisioned something like that! It was a wonder!

I turned my eyes to her, Celine, my little girl…I had no idea what life held in store for her, but still…she was mine. I kissed her gently on the forehead and slowly drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to the sound of her crying several hours later, seeing the sun had long since risen. I got my first proper look at her face then; it wasn't so distorted in the daylight with no shadows to cast an unnatural gloom over it, but she looked enough…like me, that I had no doubt in my mind as to what her future would hold—prejudice, hatred, and persecution.

I forced myself to put it out of my head and focus on calming her. She was probably hungry, and she needed her mother in that case. I reached out with the arm that wasn't holding Celine and shook Vivienne's shoulder. "Vivienne," I said, "wake up, _mon amour._"

She stirred with a groan and refused to open her eyes.

"Wake up, mother hen," I told her. "One of your chicks needs you."

She heaved a weak sigh and opened her eyes. They were still bleary with sleep and seemed overbright, leaping out of her pale face. I gave Celine over to her and studied her more closely. She looked even paler than usual except for her flushed cheeks, and her eyes were glassy with more than just tiredness.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She nodded, but I didn't believe her. I placed my hands to her cheek and forehead and found them blazing with fever. "No, you're not," I told her. "You're burning up. Mme. Fontaine should still be here; I'll go get her."

I rose from the bed and hurried downstairs. The midwife still hadn't left yet, and I found her in the kitchen with the twins cooking breakfast. "Good morning, monsieur," she greeted. "I trust you're well?"

"That remains to be seen," I replied shortly. "You're needed upstairs."

She asked no more questions, following me from the room until we were out of earshot of the children. "What's the matter?" she inquired as we mounted the stairs.

"Vivienne," I told her. "She has a fever."

Mme. Fontaine nodded and went immediately to her side where she still sat nursing our daughter. "How are you this morning, Madame?" she asked. "I hear you're not feeling your best."

"I'm fine," Vivienne told her even as she swayed where she sat.

"You're a terrible liar when you're half delirious," I informed her.

"I'm sure it's not that serious," Mme. Fontaine assured me, pressing her palms to Vivienne's face to gauge her fever and peering into her eyes. "This happens sometimes, that's all."

"It didn't happen when the twins were born," I argued.

"Every birth is different," she told me levelly.

I shot an involuntary glance at Celine and felt my stomach twist. Yes, every birth was different, indeed…

Mme. Fontaine waited until the baby had fallen asleep again to see to my wife, examining her carefully and calmly while I looked on, lost in anxiety. "It's _not _serious, is it?" I asked.

"Of course not," she replied. "All she needs is to rest and let it burn itself out."

"I'm not sure I like the idea of _anything _about my wife burning itself out," I shot back.

"Erik, I'll be fine," Vivienne told me. "You heard Mme. Fontaine, I just need to rest. Keep an eye on the twins and try not to worry, and I'll be up again in no time."

"Well then," the midwife said, "you just get some sleep, Madame, and we'll leave you in peace." She beckoned to me and I reluctantly followed her from the bedroom. She closed the door softly and said, "I'll stay out here in case she needs anything. In the meantime, go on and look after your other children, monsieur."

I nodded, but I couldn't hold off my fears. I couldn't stop comparing the twins' birth with Celine's and against my will the words crept from me. "It…it couldn't have anything to do with—with my daughter, could it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Because the way she is," I said, hating myself for even thinking it, "the way she looks…"

"Don't be a fool," she told me. "Did _your _mother take fever when _you _were born?"

In another time I would have cut the tongue from her mouth for that, but the thought of Vivienne and Celine in the next room and Ren and Annelise downstairs kept my temper in check. "I wouldn't know," I replied scathingly. "I prefer not to even think of my mother, heartless gorgon that she was."

She seemed to sense my fragile grasp on restraint, but it didn't trouble her. "It has nothing to do with how your daughter looks, monsieur," she said. "As I said, it happens sometimes. I see it most often after the mother has been in confinement for several weeks."

"But Vivienne didn't go into confinement," I pressed. "She was up and about, looking after the house and twins like she always does. Could that have weakened her? She didn't exert herself half so much when she was carrying Rene and Annelise."

"I won't deny it is an additional burden to care for children when expecting children," she answered, "but I assure you, it's no cause for worry. She'll be fine soon."

"How soon is 'soon,' exactly?"

"If I knew, monsieur, I would gladly tell you…"

I sighed heavily. "Of course, Madame. Thank you for your assistance."

Every instinct pushed me to run back to Vivienne's side and never leave until she was well again, but I forced myself to leave her in Mme. Fontaine's care and returned to Ren and Annelise where they were still eating their breakfast. They looked up as I approached and struck me with a barrage of questions. "Where is Maman?" "Can we see the baby?" "Can we name her now?"

"We've been thinking," Annelise told me solemnly, "and since you call Maman 'phoenix,' the baby should be named for a bird as well."

"Oh?" I asked. "What bird is that?"

"_La cygne!_" Ren burst out.

I felt something catch in my chest. They were so ready to accept her, just as they had always accepted me…the swan…Celine the swan…I knew a taste of bittersweet melancholy that what was so easy for the twins would be difficult for anyone else and had proved nearly impossible once before. I was at once grateful and remorseful that Vivienne and I had preserved their innocence that way. They hadn't been exposed to the truth of the life I had led before them and they didn't know that their beloved father was viewed as a monster by the rest of mankind. They wouldn't understand how hard it would be for the sister they already adored, and I wasn't sure I wanted them to. I wanted to protect them as much as Celine.

With an effort, I managed to smile at them both and said, "That's a wonderful name, but what do you think of the name Celine?"

Their faces fell a little. "That means you and Maman already decided what to call her, doesn't it?" Ren asked.

"I'm afraid so," I told them, "but we still need a name to call her among us, a name we don't have to share. It would be _our _name for her, and no one else's. What do you think of that?"

"So our name for her would be more important?" Annelise queried.

"You could say that."

"All right," she replied, and if I had any doubts as to who suggested the name "_la cygne_" then her quick compliance dispelled them at once. "Can we go see her and Maman now?"

"Not right now, sweetheart," I told her. "Maman isn't feeling too well at the moment."

"What's wrong with her?" Ren asked.

I swallowed hard. Whatever Mme. Fontaine said to reassure me, I still couldn't banish the fear for my little phoenix. "She's still very tired, and she has a fever. You remember what that is, don't you?"

They both nodded. "That's what Annelise got last winter when she stayed out too long in the snow," Ren said.

"That's right. So Maman needs to rest now, and then you can go see her."

"Can we go out and play, then?"

I nodded and they dashed away from the table and raced towards the garden. I couldn't blame them; it was a beautiful summer day, and if I hadn't been so worried about Vivienne I would have been glad of it. As it was, I was in no mood to appreciate the beauties of nature when I had firsthand knowledge of its…irregularities.

I wandered into the music room and sat down at the piano. I felt cheated. I should have been rejoicing the birth of my daughter, not heartsore and afraid. I couldn't share my fears with anyone, not even Vivienne. All of her empathy and compassion couldn't give her a full understanding, and I just couldn't have her faith that everything would be all right. I had believed that once before, and this was my reward, my punishment. I should have known better than to think I could ever have something like a normal life, like anyone else. I was abnormal, as unlike anyone else as a nettle is unlike a rose. I had forgotten for seven blissful years, and now God was reminding me.

I laid my hands to the keyboard and began to play a slow, plaintive, repetitive melody laden with sadness and little by little embellishing it to give greater range to my feelings. As always, I would find the greatest relief in my music. It never demanded anything of me, it just was. I could wallow in my misery until I had expelled it completely, then return once again when it was too much to take. For the sake of my family, I would try to keep my head up, but I could foresee a need for this release often in the years to come.

Long after I had stopped playing, the echoes still rang in my ears and I sat staring at the black and white keys in silence before getting to my feet and going upstairs. Mme. Fontaine still guarded the bedroom door, but I ignored her and went inside, seating myself beside Vivienne. She was asleep, but restless, looking as she did so long ago when she still had nightmares…

I gently took hold of her hand and kissed it, then turned my eyes to the cradle beside the bed where Celine lay. I settled in for a long vigil to watch over them both. I told myself over and over that I may be a freak of nature, but I was loved; while my daughter may have inherited my curse, she would always be loved. Whatever came next couldn't take that away, and that's all that truly mattered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Merry late Christmas to all! It's here at last, dear ones! Enjoy!**

_Vivienne_

The sun was setting and the shadows growing longer as I stood alone in the street, counting what money I had earned that day. It wasn't much, but it was at least enough for the night's meal.

"I'll take that, my good son."

Everything hurtled forward and I was powerless to stop it. He snatched away the money and my uncle's viola; my cap fell off when he hit me and my long hair tumbled free; he dragged me to the side of the street and pushed me against a wall; I cried and cried as he tore my clothes and forced his way into my body.

_No, no, this can't be happening…_I couldn't stop crying at the pain and horror…I felt as though I was burning from the inside out…

A sound pierced the myriad of images and shattered them into memories, a single violin singing close by. It chased away the vision and banished it back to the realm of dreams it had escaped from. I was lost in nonreality, but I still had the music of that violin to anchor me. I could have wept with relief as I realized what it meant—Erik was beside me, playing for me and guarding me. He was there, and I was safe.

But I was still so hot…the heat in my skin was burning me alive…

* * *

_Erik_

"The fever is getting worse," Mme. Fontaine said, confirming my suspicions. "She's growing delirious."

I already knew that as well. I knew what it meant the instant I heard her begin to cry out in her sleep. In the rage of her fever, she had begun to dream again of the pain that would never fade away, no matter how I would wish it otherwise. The realization struck me like a knife through the heart and I rushed away to find my violin, coming back to her and playing for her to ease those old wounds and ward off the evil dreams.

Worse, delirious…the menace in the words was profound and ominous at once. My mouth went dry and I only just managed to ask hoarsely, "How much worse?"

"I'm not sure," came the reply. "But I never like to see a fever this intense, no matter what the case may be."

"Do you see it often enough?"

She glanced up at me. I had felt the blood drain from my face at her first announcement and knew that my pallor and my features must have combined into death warmed over. "It just means it will take more to break it," she said, "and it will take more time to recover."

"If there was even the slightest chance of her—" I stopped short. The thought of losing my little phoenix was one that held even more horror and agony than anything I had ever experienced, and I couldn't even give words to it.

"She's not in such great danger as that," Mme. Fontaine told me. "If that was so, I would be telling you to mind your prayers as opposed to staying your worries."

This woman was simply too practical. Vivienne, my Vivienne, was ill, and the demons she had long tried to outrun were catching up with her. There was every cause to worry, and I couldn't rest easy until she was well and whole again.

"Are there any more blankets for her?" the Madame asked. "We need to cover her with as many as we can."

I put my hand to her cheek and felt as though I had been burned. "She's so hot already," I murmured softly. It was as though the fire she held in her soul had broken out of control and risen up to devour her.

"I prefer to drive the fever up as high as possible," Mme. Fontaine said. "It will break if it's high enough to cause her to sweat. If that doesn't work, we'll have to bring it down some other way."

I already knew how to treat a fever, but it unnerved me to see such a scorching one eating at my wife, consuming her little by little. I gathered spare blankets and covered her with them, one after another and hoping their weight wasn't too uncomfortable pressing down on her fragile body.

"I can give her something so she sleeps more peacefully," Mme. Fontaine added.

I shook my head. "Leave that to me," I told her, sitting back down beside the bed and taking my violin in hand once more. "Would you look in on the twins for me?"

She nodded. "The little one will need feeding soon," she said. "I'll see to that as well."

"Thank you."

She made her exit, leaving me alone again with my little phoenix. I set bow to strings and began to play, hoping that in her fever she would hear the music and know how much I wanted her to come back to me.

The hours crawled as I sat playing, never taking my eyes off of her and never leaving her side. She shifted agitatedly beneath the blankets mounded upon her and she let out a little whimper every now and then as the fever blazed inside her, but she didn't cry out as before and I knew the nightmares kept their distance. I took no rest or reprieve for myself, determined to remain in my place until she awoke.

Mme. Fontaine returned on occasion to assess Vivienne's condition, and I could tell what she saw wasn't comforting. She had expected the fever to subside long before now, and still it burned on. I plied her with questions and her answers were terse and never too assuring. She was more worried than she was willing to admit, but she eluded my interrogations and continued to work, checking Vivienne's pulse and layering still more blankets upon her. "I'll give it just a little longer," she kept saying. "If it doesn't break soon, we'll have to try something else."

"How much longer?" I demanded. "She's been like this for hours already."

"She's strong, monsieur. She can hold out for hours yet."

"What do you mean, hold out?"

"If the fever persists," she told me, "it could have a lasting effect and she might never fully recover her strength."

I felt as though all the air had been pulled from my lungs, leaving me gasping for breath. "Madame," I said faintly, "tell me the truth. Could this fever kill her?"

"It's difficult to say—"

"Madame."

She gave me a long hard look and said, "If it keeps on for too long, then yes, it could kill her. It will put too much strain on her body and burn out her vitality, and she will die."

Everything in my soul shrank back from the thought, refusing to even believe it could come true. As long as there was a breath in me, I wouldn't let it happen. "Whatever it takes, Madame, make her well again," I said, my resolve as unbendable as iron and the force of my will irrefutable. "I don't care how you do it or what it costs you. Don't let her go, or by God—" I cut myself off before the idea of her failing Vivienne drove me to say more.

"I'll do what I can," she replied, stiff-backed in asperity at my unfinished threat. "But I'm not God, monsieur. There's only so much I can do."

God…I had never been on very stable terms with Him, and I despised Him once again for doing this to my family, Celine laying in her cradle with her malformed face and Vivienne fighting for her life. It was nothing but wanton cruelty, and I knew a thing or two about cruelty. I had borne the worst kind and dealt it back with a vengeance, but nothing had ever hurt me as much as this.

I sat rigid for several minutes as she finished her work and left us again. It was nearing sunset and I could hear a commotion downstairs as the twins settled down for dinner. Had I ever been like that as a child, so unburdened by the worries of the adults and so easily diverted from any troubles? No, I didn't think so…I never had it so simple, and for that I envied my children. I would have given anything to be as carefree as a seven-year-old, but by the same token I would have traded that innocence to have Vivienne safe and healthy again.

My helplessness was unbearable as I watched her. I had been helpless far too long, and I hated to be so now when she needed me so badly, but all I could do was stay with her and cling to hope as she lay there, possibly already dying—

No! She wasn't dying! A phoenix could never die, living forever with immortal fire in its heart. She would recover soon—she _had _to. The twins needed her, and little Celine needed her…we all needed her.

"Come back to us, Vivienne," I urged her. "You can't leave us, we can't survive without you."

She still lay unconscious, taking me back to those dark hours after she slit her wrists and I had no idea if she would live or die. The difference was, this time it was even more terrible: I knew how much I loved her and how it would kill me if I lost her.

* * *

_Vivienne_

The orchestra played on down in the pit while I danced onstage with the rest of the ballet. We glided and twirled in perfect synchronization, as we had rehearsed for weeks…

But it was so hot…why was it so hot?

I could see a strange light out of the corner of my eye, glowing brightly and commanding my attention. I turned my head to look and saw it, a bird…a bird made of fire…

There was fire all in the auditorium and people running every which way trying to escape. I searched for a way out, but the heat was terrible…I was burning up, burning alive…

I felt a cool touch on my face, coming like a rainfall after a long drought. I rose up to it, seeking relief from the heat and feeling a weary joy when the same coolness took my hand. I focused on it with all I had, ignoring the heat and the fire and slipping back into my dreams.

* * *

_Erik_

Mme. Fontaine's face was grave when she entered the room again and saw no change. "I won't risk it any longer," she said. "We have to bring that fever down as soon as possible."

I shifted in my chair, stiff and sore from sitting for so long. "What can I do?" I asked.

"There's really no need—"

"Madame, she is my wife and the mother of my children," I interrupted harshly. "Either tell me what I can do for her, or leave and let me tend her myself. I brought her back from the edge of death once before, and I'm sure I can do it again."

She raised her eyebrows at my apparent boast, then said, "Take those blankets off her. They're doing no good whatsoever."

I complied, throwing off the layers and casting them in a pile beside the bed.

"Get her out of that night gown as well," Mme. Fontaine added. "We need to get her into a cool bath."

"Through that door," I directed, pointing her in the direction of the bathroom. She hurried off and within moments I heard the sound of water running in the tub. I carefully undressed Vivienne, leaving her only in her underclothes and alarmed at the heat in her skin. I knew then for certain what the midwife knew; she really was dying, and if we didn't do something fast, she wouldn't see the morning. She moaned softly as she was disturbed, but remained otherwise unresponsive.

I lifted her out of bed and carried her into the bathroom, where Mme. Fontaine had nearly finished drawing the bath. At her gesture, I lowered Vivienne's limp form into the water and knelt beside the tub with my arm around her to hold her upright. "Only for a few minutes," I said. "Too much longer, and it will do more harm than good."

"You took the words out of my mouth, monsieur," the Madame said. "You know what you're doing, after all."

I ignored her, dipping my free hand into the water and holding it to Vivienne's face. The fever was so strong, I almost expected the droplets to evaporate the instant they touched her cheek. It helped distract me from worry to be doing something, so I snatched a cloth from the sink and proceeded to bathe her face, singing softly to her all the while.

After about five minutes, we got her out of the water and wrapped a towel around her, and I held her in my arms, still singing to her. Mme. Fontaine sat watching me silently, only interrupting once to say, "We'll have to keep putting her back in the bath until she cools down."

"Of course," I replied, holding her tighter to me. The woman continued to gawk at me, and I finally snapped, "What is it?"

She shrugged. "I've dealt with frantic husbands before," she said, "but never one with such a fierce desire to care for his wife."

"Then you clearly have no idea how much mine means to me," I retorted as I brushed a damp lock of hair from Vivienne's face.

"No, I think I do," the midwife corrected. "I think I have some idea."

I didn't reply.

It took two more baths for Vivienne to come alive, finally regaining her senses and opening her eyes. At first she couldn't make sense of what was happening and could only see the strain and relief in my eyes and my still-damp clothes, soaked through from holding her. "Erik, why are you all wet?" she asked vaguely.

I wanted to laugh out loud, but was so exhausted I only managed a smile. "I could ask you the same question, little phoenix," I replied.

She took another look around and realized where she was. "The bathtub?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"Your fever," Mme. Fontaine explained. "We finally had to bring it down."

"It's so cold!"

"It's supposed to be. Let's get her dried off and back into bed," she added to me. "The last thing we need is for her to get too chilled."

I nodded and lifted Vivienne clear of the water. She was still fairly weak, so all she could do was sit still as we toweled her dry. "How are the twins?" she asked.

"Anxious to see you," I told her. "They're in bed asleep right now, but they would have broken down the bedroom door to get to you if we let them."

"And Celine?"

"She's fine, but I'm sure she wants you as much as the twins do."

"Can I see her?"

"Not yet," Mme. Fontaine told her, bringing a fresh night gown from the bedroom. "Let's get you settled in bed, then we'll discuss it."

"I feel so useless," she lamented as I dressed her, "not even able to put on my own clothes."

"Oh, but surely you won't mind if I help you remove them again when you're well?" I inquired.

She gave me a softer version of her exasperated, sidelong glance of disapproval, not as powerful as usual in her weakened state. "A little discretion, monsieur, in present company?" she asked.

"Well, the children had to get here somehow," Mme. Fontaine offered.

"Please, Madame, don't encourage him." She wound her arms around my neck as I stood with her and carried her back to bed, setting her down gently and pulling the blankets up over her body. She settled in like a bird in its nest and said, "Now, let me see my baby."

In the midst of Vivienne's illness, I had somehow forgotten my bitterness over my daughter, but it all rushed back as I watched Mme. Fontaine take her from the cradle and give her to Vivienne, sitting close by to assist her if her strength failed her. No matter what else I felt, I loved Celine. No matter what anyone else could say, it was my fault she bore that face.

Vivienne's wan expression lit up as she smiled down at the baby in her arms, making what most mothers would deem a nightmare into a true miracle. "I still feel like strangers," she said. "We haven't had the chance to get to know each other."

"They always know their mothers," Mme. Fontaine replied. "It's a recognition that seems born into them."

I felt a twinge of guilt. Except for those few hours after she was born, I had spent no time with Celine either. She had been largely ignored by all but the woman who had delivered her thus far. It would have been different if Vivienne hadn't been ill; she would have spent every possible moment with our little girl. And I would have—what _would _I have done? It cut me down just to look at her!

That wasn't her fault. Vivienne was right about that; Celine could no more help the way she looked than I could. My conflict centered around myself, not Celine. It was my fault I felt so wretched, my fault she even existed in the first place—

I halted, infuriated at my stupidity. My daughter wasn't an accident, a freak, a monster, or any other name I called myself, and her existence certainly wasn't a detriment! I needed to get my head on straight fast, or I was headed for trouble.

With more confidence than I felt, I sat on Vivienne's other side on the bed and wrapped my arm around her. She leaned against me slightly and said, "There you have it, Prodigy Number Three. If she's not…quite what we were expecting, what do you think of her, Erik?"

"Well," I said, choosing my words thoughtfully, "none of our chicks are quite what I was expecting, little phoenix, so I think she fits in seamlessly."

"Do you mean it?" she asked softly.

I looked down at Celine and cradled her head gently. She was so tiny my hands seemed enormous in comparison, and so fragile that my most delicate movements seemed ungainly and awkward. I thought of how loved she already was by her odd little family, already facing better prospects than I had by that one simple fact. Yes, she fit in perfectly…I nodded. "With all my heart," I told Vivienne.

"And you're not scared about the future?"

"I'm scared for all our children and their futures, Vivienne."

"Erik."

I sighed. "Of course, I'm scared. I'll always be scared. But I don't want to think about the future right now, especially not when you came so close to missing it."

"Was I really that sick?" she asked.

"Yes," Mme. Fontaine answered for me, "you were. And you still haven't gotten over it."

I placed my hand to her forehead and though she was still feverish, she was no longer dangerously so. "Back to bed with you, little phoenix," I said. "Time to rest, now."

She nodded, proof enough of how ill she had been and still was. She allowed Mme. Fontaine to put Celine back in her cradle and nestled deeper under the covers. "Will you stay with me?" she asked.

"You know you only have to ask me," I replied.

Mme. Fontaine left with a final goodnight, closing the door behind her. I shed my damp clothes and got into bed, folding my arms around Vivienne as she cuddled close. The last traces of the fever made holding her more than ever like holding fire, but I felt more assured about letting it run its course now. I kissed the top of her head and said, "Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I didn't do it intentionally," she told me. "I couldn't help it."

"Nonetheless…"

Feeble light began to creep into the room past the drawn curtains; dawn was coming. I felt Vivienne sigh and say, "I love you, Erik."

"I love you too, little phoenix, more than you'll ever know."

I didn't know whether it was the rising sun, my relief at Vivienne's recovery, or something else entirely, but for the first time since I saw Celine's face, I was ready to look into the future with hope.

**I'll be back soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Ugh, have mercy, I am SOOOOO sorry this took so long! It's been insane on my end (but hey, what's new?) and it took a second or a week to figure out where I was going with this chapter, but I persevered! Don't worry, the next update will come much faster!**

_Vivienne_

"Can I get out of bed yet?"

"No. You heard Mme. Fontaine; you're to rest at least one week."

"It's already been six days!"

"And the last time I checked, a week means seven."

"Erik, please…"

"I'm sorry, Vivienne, but I have my orders."

I sighed petulantly. "Since when do you follow anyone's orders?" I demanded.

"I follow yours," he replied.

"Only when it suits you."

"I resent that, Madame! I do it because I care, and right now, I'm following orders to ignore your piteous please because I care. It's for your own good, little phoenix."

My fever had vanished three days ago, and I still remained in bed, recovering from labor and my illness. Mme. Fontaine had returned to her home after I was out of danger, giving Erik strict instructions regarding my convalescence, and he was following them to the letter. I hadn't so much as set one toe out of bed in days, and I was getting restless at being cooped up for so long.

I fidgeted sulkily under the blankets and thumped the squashed pillows I sat propped against back into shape. "I'm tired of lying here," I complained. "I want to get up and move on, looking after my children and my home. I want to go out and enjoy the sunshine in the garden. Surely that's not so dangerous to my recovery."

"Who knows if you'll ever recover, Vivienne," he told me seriously. "You were at death's door, and sickness doesn't heal like other wounds do. I don't want you exerting yourself too much." I continued to wrestle with the bedding, and he stepped closer, rearranging the tangled covers and positioning the pillows for me. "I can bring you a book or something to keep you entertained."

I shook my head. "I want my violin."

He paused contemplatively. "I'll think about it."

"Then in that case, where are the twins?" I asked.

"Downstairs. Reading," he added slyly. "I told them if they behaved themselves and studied quietly for a few hours, they could come in for a visit."

I sighed and stared longingly out the window. I wanted to get out of bed and put it behind me: my sickness and the entire aftermath of Celine's birth. I wanted to take the first step toward banishing that distant, haunted look I saw in Erik's eyes whenever he looked at our daughter. In the past week his attitude toward her had changed completely; he was no longer bitter and aloof, but attentive and protective to the point of relentlessness, as if he alone could keep her safe from whatever lay in her future. It both touched and disturbed me, because I knew there was only so much he could do for her and his fervor could prove difficult to manage in years to come. If her first week of life was any indication, Celine was in danger of becoming the most sheltered, pampered little girl that ever lived.

"Erik, you could use a rest as well," I urged him. "Come sit with me for a while, please? You look exhausted."

He sighed. "It's not easy, looking after those children of ours while taking care of a new one and their mother," he said. "I'm getting too old for it all."

"You're not old," I told him as he lay beside me on the bed and rested his head in my lap. "You're just stretched too thinly right now. Things will get back to normal soon."

"How normal does it ever get around here, exactly?" he asked.

"I mean normal for us."

"You mean controlled chaos."

"If that's how you want to put it…you _are _the reigning lord of mayhem, you know."

He gave me a small smile and took my hand, twining my fingers with his and laying a kiss on my knuckles. "I wouldn't change our world for anything," he told me, "but I do wish it was easier for us to be normal."

"Normal would never be easy," I replied, running the fingertips of my free hand across his face. "You're too extraordinary to ever be normal, and our chicks are too much like you to expect to be normal."

"Vivienne, please be serious," he begged. "Our chicks are nothing short of miraculous, but there's a difference between extraordinary and abnormal. I'm living proof."

I rolled my eyes. "You drive me insane when you do that, always moping and brooding the way you do," I told him. "Try for once to be a little more cheerful, will you? Your gloom is doing nothing for my recovery."

"Fine, then," he returned, "I'll be all sunshine and butterflies and daisies. Does that please you?"

"Not particularly. It only reminds me of how much I long to be outside instead of stuck in here with all these depressed thoughts."

"You're not setting one foot out of bed."

"Try and stop me."

"Vivienne—"

I scooted away from him and flung back the covers, but before I could stand, he rolled off the bed and onto his feet, coming to my side and swooping me up in his arms. "Have it your way, you pushy little shrew," he said, half annoyed and half teasing. "If you want outside, I'll take you outside."

"But I thought I wasn't setting foot out of bed," I reminded him, laughing at his sober expression.

"And you're not," he replied. He carried me from the bedroom and down the stairs, then outside onto the veranda looking out on the garden. He set me down on the wicker chaise, draping a blanket over my lap in spite of the warmth of the day. "Your wish is granted, my lady," he went on, bowing mockingly. "But if you make one move out of that seat, I'll put you straight back in bed even if I have to tie you to the bedposts and keep you there myself."

I flashed him a taunting smile. "Well, with a promise like that, you're only tempting me to misbehave," I informed him, reaching towards him and drawing him down to me. He sat on the edge of the chaise, bowing low over me as our lips met. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the rush of love and desire that tasted so potent in his kiss, never dimmed through the years and flaring even stronger than ever. God in Heaven, I still loved him so much…

Racing footsteps across the boards startled us back to the rest of the world and the twins came outside.

"Maman!" Annelise cried. "You're up!"

"For the most part," I replied, opening my arms to receive the embrace she rushed to give.

"We still need to be careful with her," Erik warned. "She's not quite herself yet."

I took a deep breath of the clean, balmy air and said, "But I feel more like myself already." I smiled contentedly, then added, "Go inside and get Celine, please. We can hardly leave her on her own while we're all out here and can't hear her if she cries."

He gave me another small smile and went back in, and the twins took turns telling me what they had been reading. Ren was in his element, already as passionate about books as his father was about music, and while Annelise might not share such a love of knowledge, she was no less eager to share what she learned. They both left off their recitals as Erik returned with the baby, holding her in his arms and crooning softly to her to keep her calm. He sat down in an unoccupied chair and they scurried over to him to see their sister.

As for me, I stayed in my place, watching them all. The wonder and adoration in the twins' eyes melted my heart, but it was Erik's look of absolute love and devotion that made me catch my breath. I couldn't help asking, "Do you still wish it was easy for us to be normal?"

He glanced up and considered my question, trying to work out how best to answer it. Annelise chimed in, "But Maman, we _are _normal, aren't we?"

"I think so," I answered her.

"Yet I wonder," Erik spoke up, "what does it take to be normal?"

I shifted my attention back to him, and he went on softly, "I'm afraid I've never really known what it is to be normal."

"We're normal, Papa," Ren told him. "Normal is the same thing always, and we're always the same."

Erik looked back at me. "What do you think of that assessment, Vivienne?" he asked me. "How does the world experience of a grown woman tally with the innocent logic of a child?"

I didn't know what answer he sought, only that he sought reassurance. He could free himself of his doubts all he liked, but he was human in that something within his soul always searched for some constant comfort from the darkness that would otherwise envelope him.

"I think Ren isn't far off," I said. "Normal is the same in that it is always subjective. It means something different to everyone. I think what we view as normal is merely something that rarely changes in our lives, something we are accustomed to and accept as fact in our daily existence. The sun is normal," I suggested, gesturing at the bright, clear sky. "It's unchanging and dependable, for us as well as every living person beneath it. The trees, the air, the flowers, the clouds…they're all normal as well. We share them with others every day, and to every person we share them with, they are all normal."

I paused to gauge the expression of my primary audience, rapt and attentive to my every word. His eyes never left me, the golden glow invisible in the sunlight and still I knew it was there, even if I couldn't see it. "The things that make us who we are, are another matter. We are all different, and yet what others would consider different is to us, again, normal. Not every boy loves books as much as you do, Ren, and not every girl loves music as much as you, Annelise; that makes you different from other boys and girls, but it's still a constant, neverending part of you, which makes it normal in your eyes. It's at once special and commonplace, ordinary and extraordinary."

Erik sat in silence watching me as he drank in my words, then he nodded slightly and I smiled the tiniest bit.

"But…that doesn't make any sense," Ren told me. "How can something be special _and _ordinary? Shouldn't it be one or the other?"

I sighed and Erik chuckled. Children only ever saw the black and white, as yet unconcerned with the meddlesome concept of gray matter that so vexed adult life. And these children, isolated as they were, had yet to learn to see from the perspective of others. How we had allowed them to grow into their unique identities while still hindering their basic development! "Well, Ren, you like to catch beetles, don't you?"

He nodded.

"For you, it's ordinary to do so. But Annelise, you don't like to catch them and hold them, do you?"

She shook her head, looking disgusted.

"So for her, it's extraordinary that you catch them," I explained.

"And gross!" she added.

I couldn't hold back a smile. "Do you both understand, now?"

They nodded slowly. "So we _are _normal?" Annelise asked.

"Of course we are! We all love each other and accept each other, and that in itself is extraordinary, yet it's the most ordinary thing in the world." I looked up at Erik and grinned. "It's quite boring when you think about it. What do _you _think of that assessment, Erik?"

"I think," he said slowly, "that behind all the nonsense you tried to disguise it with, there may be a point lurking there."

My grin widened triumphantly. Teasing or not, I knew I had gotten through to him one more time, and that was worth every joke and jape.

* * *

_Erik_

Things went back to normal within weeks—at least, normal as far as we were concerned. Normal for us, I told myself with no small measure of satisfaction. She was a clever one, my Vivienne, her arrogance and wisdom merging into a steady confidence that had to reach out and touch me when I needed it, occasionally giving me the chastising slap I deserved.

She was soon over her fever and returned happily to her role as wife and mother, but Mme. Fontaine had been apt in her prediction. The fever had ravaged her while she was in its clutches, weakening her and causing her to tire more quickly than in the past. It scarcely troubled her, though, as she still ran the house with her customary energy and vigor, simply resting more frequently throughout the day. She didn't mind this, either, preferring to focus once more on music. She hadn't had much time for it since the twins were born, and I think she was grateful for the chance to sit with me and return to the comfort of the very thing that had done so much to bring us together.

I sat watching her one winter afternoon about six months after Celine was born. She had been working in the kitchen preparing dinner, refusing to sit down until everything was in order, then coming to rest for a spell at the piano. She had a smudge of flour on her face, but she looked so adorable I didn't mention it to her. She fingered the keys with a precision years of practice had given her, glancing every now and then at the music in front of her. The dying sun still blazed through the windows, and if I tilted my head just right, the rays struck her in such a way that she truly looked as if she was made of fire, a fierce light making her shine brilliantly.

A wail from beyond the room made her pause in her playing, and before I could move an inch she had risen to her feet to answer the call. I sighed and relaxed again, tapping my pen against the manuscript in front of me and humming the pitches to myself. I tried to lighten Vivienne's load and look after things while she rested, but she occasionally insisted I keep her company in the music room. Who was I to argue with her?

She returned to the room, cradling Celine on her shoulder and making soothing sounds in her ear. Glancing out the window, she added, "It's getting dark outside. The twins will need to come in soon."

I nodded my agreement as she sat down and I laid my pen aside, looking at her and our daughter. Celine had grown in six months, but she was still very small for her age and in that, she reminded me of her mother. "She's an anomaly even among us," I remarked. "I would never have predicted those blue eyes and that blonde hair."

"Annelise was blonde for that first year or so," Vivienne reminded me, ruffling the pale down that covered the baby's head. "My uncle told me stories about my mother; he said she had lighter coloring."

I eyed her red hair. "So you take after your father as well?"

"I think so," she replied thoughtfully. She fell silent and I turned to look out the window. Judging by the sky, it would snow in the night. I watched Ren and Annelise as they chased each other through the garden, their shapes turning to silhouettes as the light failed.

"What was it like for you when you were a child?"

I turned back to Vivienne. She was watching me closely, a need to know illuminated in her eyes as she held Celine to her. "I know there's a difference between knowing and understanding," she went on, "and simply hearing the words won't really show me, but…"

I sighed. "It's not something I like to think about, much less discuss, Vivienne."

"I know." She gazed down at Celine, then back up at me. "Just tell me something, Erik, anything at all…"

Anything at all…but where to start? What should I tell her? I sighed again and began.

"I've told you about my mother. She was the one who first put me in a mask. She wanted me out of her sight as much as possible, called me the most terrible names a child can hear, and if I dared to touch her, even accidentally, she would scream and hit me until I screamed as well. The Devil had cursed her with this creature, she used to say; she cursed me in her turn.

"I wasn't allowed out of the house…God forbid anyone should see me and learn she had given birth to something like me. When I could, I would climb out my bedroom window at night and sit on the roof, looking up at the stars. The darkness was my only safe haven; most people fear it, but I was sheltered by it and came to call it a friend. I was free from everything so long as I could hide in the shadows.

"I must have been spotted by someone in the village, because word got back to my parents about the gargoyle that crouched over their house when the sun went down, the monster with yellow eyes that glowed with the fire of Hell. My mother was furious that I had defied her and let myself be seen, for her and my father's names to be associated with gossip and rumors of witchery—they, honest, God-fearing people, and me, the spawn of Satan! She had my father nail my window shut and started locking me in my room at night so I couldn't escape, but that only made my desire for freedom that much stronger. I learned how to force the lock, and one night I left the house entirely. I didn't go very far, but some of the village boys found me…"

I paused, unsure how to continue. I could remember every detail as if it had only just happened, the night I first learned the atrocities mankind is capable of.

"You don't have to go on," Vivienne said, "not if you don't want to."

"No, that's not it," I replied. "I have to go on, but…it's not that easy…

"They started by throwing rocks at me. I could hear them as they struck and feel each one, breaking skin and leaving bruises that didn't fade for weeks. I covered my head with my arms and tried to run, but they caught up with me. They were older, faster, stronger, and they outnumbered me; I didn't stand a chance. They had heard the rumors about me, about how I was a demon child, a corpse born alive, and they wanted to test themselves against me. They beat me like a dog, stood over me and kicked me until I was doubled up and gasping for breath, then finally one of them drew a penknife and said he was going to put out my eyes."

I met her gaze again and held it, making her meet the eyes that had almost been stolen from me. "They were the eyes of a beast, he said, filled with evil light and a curse to all they looked upon, but he was going to put an end to their dark magic." I broke off with a morbid chuckle. "The fool wanted to keep them as trophies."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I was hurt, but I tried to flee," I told her. "Two of them grabbed my arms and held me, and the one with the knife came closer and closer. And I just…lost control. The same instinct that drove me onto the roof in the first place, and to pick the lock on my door that night, took over. I knew no fear and no pain. All I could think about was how that little bastard wanted to hurt me, and I wasn't going to let him get away with it.

"When the will to survive takes hold of you like that, you're unstoppable. I thrashed and struggled against the two that were holding me and fought my way loose again, screaming like Lucifer himself had possession of me. The one with the knife came forward to silence me, and I lunged at him. We fought on the ground for the knife, and somehow…I don't know how it happened, it was all over so fast, but when we stopped struggling, I had him pinned to the ground and the blade was sticking out of his throat."

I turned away, not wanting to see how she would react. Her Erik, her husband, a murderer since youth and a childhood steeped in blood. "The others seemed too shocked to do anything but stare at us, their comrade dead at the hands of the little monster, and the sight of the boy's blood gushing from the wound sobered me in a trice. Someone would come to investigate what was happening; we had made enough noise to rouse the whole village, and I only had moments to escape. I took the knife and ran as fast as my injuries would allow, and nobody followed me. I never went back."

We both fell silent for several minutes. The memories still had me in their grip, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. I still couldn't even bring myself to look at her. Finally, I heard her say softly, "It wasn't your fault, Erik. You were only defending yourself."

"Perhaps," I replied. "But I never forgot it, always remembering that if I could do it once, I could do it again. And I did. I strangled the man charged with keeping me under control when the gypsies held me. I wasn't human to them, either. It was perfectly all right for them to chain and cage me, to humiliate me and exploit me for their own profit. Perhaps I was defending myself again when I choked the life out of him with my bare hands. But by the time I reached Persia, defense was no longer a passing thought, let alone a motive. I was killing for pleasure, and I lost count of how many lives I destroyed. It didn't matter, and why should it? I wasn't one of them, I had learned that long ago. They meant nothing to me, and I swatted them like flies, meaningless, pestilential vermin that they were.

"Don't you see, Vivienne? I might have been born with this face, but the monster behind it was made by man. They created me, they taught me how to spread pain and sorrow, and their hatred left a greater mark on me than God did when He designed me like this." I turned my eyes to Celine, now sleeping quietly in Vivienne's arms. "I don't want that for her."

"It doesn't have to be that way," she told me. "We can teach her different. She will learn of the world's cruelty and we won't be able to spare her that, but we can make sure she knows something more. She'll know love, Erik, because we'll show it to her."

I sat ponderously for a moment, then rose to join them at the piano. I gazed down at our little girl, and I still didn't understand why she had to share in my curse. "Do you know what my mother used to do?" I asked. "She would take my mask from me and make me sit and stare into the mirror for hours at a time, to punish me for even the slightest offense. She wanted me to learn exactly what a foul thing I was and never forget it. The lesson sunk in, you know. Often after I committed some sort of crime against another, I would soon find myself before my own reflection, gazing into the face of a monster."

Vivienne reached out for my hand and held it tightly. "I'm so sorry, Erik."

"No, I'm rather glad…"

"Glad?"

"Yes. I'm glad Celine has you for her mother."

She leaned against my shoulder and I kissed the top of her head. My free hand wandered automatically to the piano keys, absently striking notes as a prelude to another sonata of melancholia. She heard it and gave my hand another squeeze before letting go. "Don't get too lost in your memories," she cautioned, kissing me and rising. "Dinner will be waiting when you're ready."

I nodded, my mind already filled with music to vent my frustrated feelings. The chords that sang at my summons grew darker and gloomier, but over the noise I could hear her calling the twins inside, and I couldn't keep a thread of peace from weaving into the melody. They were all here, and we were all safe together. There was no memory so painful it could wash that away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Blame it on a bad internet connection! Here it is, and it took me long enough to get it here, I know...hope you enjoy it! Things are about to start getting serious around here!**

_Vivienne _

The rain outside was a dim echo in my ears, like thousands of fingers tapping against the windowpanes. The gentle crackle of the fire added a counterpoint, the heat from the flames wrapping me in a cocoon, and I felt myself begin to relax at last…

Muffled shouts and a series of loud thumps sounded on the ceiling, intruding on the peace of the sitting room. I remained in my chair, waiting to see if the squabble would resolve on its own without my interference, but the noise escalated into a clamor that shook the whole house. I heaved a sigh and went upstairs to investigate.

Ren and Annelise were locked in battle in the upper hallway, shoving and yelling and tumbling all over the floor in the kind of dispute one could expect to encounter when keeping several children in proximity of each other. Expect, but not necessarily tolerate. I called them to a halt with a sharp command, and they separated with ill grace and worse humor. I didn't bother trying to work out who had done what to start the quarrel; with the parties involved both determined to further their own interests, who knew what really happened? I sent them both off to separate rooms to calm down, then went back downstairs.

It was unnaturally dark and gloomy in the house, for all that it was in the middle of the day. The spring rains had arrived, and the weather had kept us inside for the greater part of a week. It was no wonder the twins had grown restless, and they weren't the only ones.

Music filled the far end of the house, drawing me on and on until I came upon Erik, seated at the piano and lost in a fit of inspiration. He had been driven into the music room out of sheer boredom at first, but as the rain persisted he had hit upon something worth further attention and had barely left the piano since then.

He didn't look up as I entered the room, and I doubted he even noticed I was there. His eyes had that dreamy, faraway cast they took on when he was deep in thought, and he seemed almost hypnotized as he played several variations of a sequence to decide which suited him best. I approached as quietly as I could so as not to disturb him and sat on the edge of the piano bench to listen. The atmosphere of the melody was pensive and thoughtful, layered with harmonies that seemed to ponder endless questions. They called to mind the questions and ideas that prompted me to seek him out in the first place, all intertwined in a tangle I couldn't unravel on my own. I was content to wait to speak until he had finished, but he asked me quite placidly, "What is it, little phoenix?"

I looked up, taken by surprise. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're never interrupting," he assured me, still experimenting with chords and keys. "You're my favorite audience, you know."

I smiled. "Is it coming along?"

"It is, indeed," he replied. "This weather has been unexpectedly stimulating."

"It certainly has," I agreed dryly. "A little more stimulation and the twins will have the house down."

"You're probably right about that…" He suddenly paused, then turned to me. "I've left you to manage things by yourself while I've been holed up in here this entire time, haven't I?" he asked contritely.

"Well, you have," I told him, matching his tone. "It's no worry, I can handle it all, but Ren and Annelise have been cooped up for too long."

"I'm sorry, Vivienne, I've been selfish—"

"No, it's fine," I insisted. "I can hear you over most of the house, and you know I love to listen to you play."

He sighed in self-reprimand and asked, "What about Celine?"

"She's behaved beautifully," I answered. "You know, I'm starting to worry she'll be a holy terror when she's older, because our children are never this well-mannered."

He chuckled softly.

I scooted closer and reached towards the keyboard, tapping out a few notes. "When the weather clears, it would do us some good to get out of the house," I remarked. "Annelise has been begging to go to that park in the city."

"Of course," he agreed. "You should take them soon."

I was silent for a long time, trying to muster the courage to say what I knew I had to. The rain had given me ample time to think about it, and I had finally reached my conclusion. "Erik," I began cautiously, "I was thinking we should _all _go…"

The quality of the stillness in the room changed immediately. Where it had been serene and tranquil an instant before, now it was alert and wary. He considered my words for a long time, finally asking, "What do you mean, Vivienne?"

The arguments I had spent long hours formulating sprang to my lips all in a rush, but I held my voice calm and steady, leaning away from the instrument. "We should all go as a family. You should come with us, and so should Celine."

I felt him stiffen beside me, my suggestion inconceivable and horrid. "You want to take Celine," he said slowly, every word buckling under the weight of his disbelief. "You want to take her out among people, and expose our child to their degradation."

"Erik," I urged gently, "we can't keep her shut away at home forever. We can't hide her away her entire life. We agreed we would do what we could to keep her safe, and at least this way we can be there to protect her."

"I don't care, Vivienne," he retorted sharply. "I won't display her like that for them to mock her."

"She's just an infant, she won't remember she ever went—"

"And that makes it better? _I'll _remember, _you'll _remember, Ren and Annelise will remember—"

"And they'll learn the way of the world as well," I cut in. "We've sheltered them and kept them ignorant, and they can't stay that way forever, thinking it's all a good place."

"So you want to make their sister the collateral damage, all for the greater good," he snapped. "They _will _see, and they _will _learn. It's an ugly place out there, filled with cruelty and violence, and they'll learn the terrible things people can do to each other—"

"And they'll learn about you too," I finished, hitting upon the realization. "They'll see what we've tried to keep from them, what you've always feared their discovering."

He slammed the lid down over the keyboard and shot to his feet, crossing to the window in a few agitated strides. "This isn't about me, Vivienne," he said. "This is about Celine, and what's best for her."

"I know, Erik," I replied, standing and moving over to him. "Is it really best for her if she stays here her entire life, hidden away because it's all she knows and never seeing the beauty in the world out of fear of the darkness?" I laid my hand on his arm, almost expecting him to jerk away in his uneasiness. "Do you want her to spend her life alone, like you did?" I asked.

"But I'm not alone now," he argued, not looking at me. "You found me."

"I stumbled my way to you without realizing it," I conceded, "but she won't be so lucky to have love walk in on her."

"Lucky?" he repeated. "You think I was lucky? I spent half a lifetime—" He stopped himself, surely only a moment away from another futile explanation. He could use all the words in the world, and it wouldn't convey half of what he had gone through. I could read it in his eyes, and I played my last card.

"I'll learn," I said quietly, "and I'll finally understand."

He didn't answer, and I didn't force him to. Further urgings rose in my throat, but I kept them back. I knew this was going to be less of a skirmish than a long battle as we struggled for Celine and her future. Whatever progress he had made towards peace these past years had halted with her birth, and there was nothing I feared more than his regression back to the tortured, bitter shade of a man I first knew at the Opera House. I could only do so much to hold back the tide…

I sighed. "I'm only thinking of her, Erik."

He still didn't answer, and with a heavy heart I left him standing at the window with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

_Erik_

There was a part of me that believed her, _agreed _with her, but the greater part just couldn't stomach what she was telling me. Celine, innocent, pure Celine, taken out into the world to face the hatred and malice it would surely show her…no, I couldn't let it happen. I _wouldn't! _I couldn't come to terms with it no matter how it was rationalized for me, and I wondered if I ever would.

I crept upstairs, sneaking past the twins as they sat bored to exhaustion in their rooms and pausing in the hallway outside the nursery. Vivienne was inside with the baby, our encounter prompting her to make sure she was safe, as if simply discussing what would happen if she left the house would bring her harm. I understood her logic; it was the very same that had lured me from the music room.

Remaining outside, I looked in on them in silence, mother cradling her child against her as if there was nothing in the world more important than the young life she held in her arms, nor any world beyond. Her eyes were closed and she whispered soothingly to the little girl, and though I couldn't hear the words I sensed they were as much for her own comfort as well as Celine's. She laid a tender kiss to the crown of her head, and I heard a tiny sniff; she was crying.

A knife went through my heart at what I was seeing and hearing. I had all but accused her of leading our daughter to the sacrifice, thinking only of what I had suffered and how much I wanted to protect Celine from the same. I hadn't stopped to consider what it must have cost Vivienne to say what she had.

I hesitated, ashamed and insecure, then went to them and took them both in my arms—Vivienne held Celine, and I held Vivienne. I felt I should say something to comfort her, but the words escaped me and I kept quiet.

"I'm scared, Erik," she whispered. "I want to do what's right for her, but I don't know what the right thing is. I want to change the world for her, fight off everyone who would hurt her, be her champion in every way, and it's killing me to know I can't do that for her."

"I know, little phoenix," I told her, kissing the top of her head.

"You know what could happen to her because you've lived it," she went on, "but I don't, and I keep imagining terrible things…the worst things…" Her words grew strangled as the tears rose again. "Erik, she's only a baby…"

She came to a halt, weeping and trembling, and I held her tighter to me. "I'm sorry, Vivienne. I'm so sorry for the way I acted. I know how hard it was for you to suggest such a thing. It's just that we've been safe here, and so happy, I never gave a thought beyond it. No one can hurt us here, and I wasn't prepared for the possibility of going out so soon."

"I don't want to go out," she told me. "I want to keep her here with me, where nothing can touch her." She sobbed so loudly she startled Celine, who began to cry.

"Ssh," I soothed to the both of them. "It's all right. We're here now, Vivienne, and we're out of harm. That's what you have to keep telling yourself, understand? You'll lose your mind if you don't, and the fear and worry will break your heart. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Now dry your eyes and rest easy," I told her. "I'll take Celine." I released her and lifted the baby out of her arms, nodding for her to go calm herself. I held Celine close, humming softly to her until she stopped crying, and I began to think about the future. She was almost a year old…soon she would start walking and talking, growing from a baby into a young girl. If she was anything like the rest of her family, she would be a wild, energetic thing burning with an insatiable curiosity. How long, then, before she wanted to see the world beyond her own home? We would then be forced to let her out into a world that would never accept her, or to keep her here—_like a phoenix in a cage, _I thought mournfully. I couldn't bear to keep Vivienne shut up like that beneath the Opera, and I knew it would be no different for Celine, our little _la cygne. _

What then? When she learned the reality of prejudice and hatred, how would that harm her, after years spent in the bubble of safety we had formed around her? There was nothing we could do here to prepare her for what awaited her out there, and to have that harshness thrust upon her without warning because we weren't strong enough to do what was best for her was both selfish and cruel. Better, then, that if she had to bear this burden, that she know as soon as possible, so she could learn to be strong in a way I never was. We could soften the blow for her for as long as possible, but we couldn't hide her forever.

Vivienne was subdued and morose when I returned to her, but much calmer, and she looked at me with a thousand unspoken questions in her eyes. I gave a single nod in answer to every one of them, and she ran into my arms like a child, still shaking and scared. She had always been the braver one between us and now that she was so afraid, I knew of nothing else to do but try to be brave in my turn, so I held her and assured her that things were going to be all right.

Later that night I took my time making love to her, being as tender as I knew how and giving her what comfort I could, and she clung to me with all the strength she had. "Say it, Erik," she pleaded. "I need to hear you say it."

I kissed her on the forehead. "We're safe here—" I kissed the tip of her nose, "and nothing can hurt us." I laid one last kiss to her lips and watched a tear slip down her cheek.

"You promise?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, wiping the tear away. "I promise."


	5. Chapter 5

**It's late, I'm ex****hausted, no intros, enjoy.**

_Vivienne_

We didn't discuss leaving the house again for several days. It seemed enough for both of us that we had agreed that it must—eventually—be done, then let the matter rest as long as we could. It was to be our greatest test yet, and we both dreaded it even as we knew we had to endure it.

The rain vanished, and our worries were no more distant. If anything, they only grew along with the trees and flowers under the radiant sunlight. The twins were more eager than ever to take a trip into Paris, and every day only saw an increase in their restlessness. The easiest solution was for me to take them on my own and leave Erik at home with Celine, but nothing worth fighting for could be found on the path of least resistance. By unspoken agreement, none of us would leave home unless we all left together, and as a result our hesitation and reluctance kept us immobile.

Then finally one morning, I awoke to find Erik already up and about, dressed and masked. "Come on, little phoenix," he told me. "If this has to happen, we might as well get it over with."

I gave one fatalistic sigh and rolled out of bed.

Ren and Annelise knew what it meant the moment they saw Erik's mask, and their looks of excitement created a dull pang in my chest. I was already nervous and apprehensive with thoughts of Celine, but what the twins might be forced to witness today was almost enough to drive me to beg Erik not to let us go. How could we have done this to them, giving them this illusion of what the world is that must ultimately be destroyed and their innocence along with it?

_We wanted to give them a peaceful childhood, _came the argument in my mind, but as the saying went, the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. For all I knew, what had seemed an act of mercy could end in evil.

After a breakfast filled with glee on the twins' part and grim resignation on mine and Erik's, we were all on our way into Paris and, to avoid the bleak thoughts that would come with staying silent, I began to speak to Ren and Annelise.

"Children, I need you to listen closely. Are you listening?"

They nodded.

"Good. Now, you're both getting older, and you're both going to learn more about the world. It's not always going to be easy and you're not always going to like it, but it's a part of growing up. You can either love it or hate it, but all you can do is adjust to it. Do you understand?"

They nodded again, their faces solemn at my tone.

I paused, unwilling to go on, and yet I took a deep breath and forged ahead. "The first thing you're going to learn, my chicks, is that the world isn't fair. You already know that to some extent when Papa and I have made you go to bed when you didn't want to, or stay inside and mind your studies when you would rather play outside. You didn't like that and thought it wasn't fair, but we did it for your own good."

"You always say that," Ren told me.

"And I mean it every time," I replied, "but it won't always be like that. Sometimes, the world is just unfair and there doesn't seem to be any reason for it at all. That's just the way it is."

They nodded one more time to show they understood, and while I knew they wouldn't _really _understand so easily, it wasn't such a difficult concept for them.

"The next thing you're going to learn," I went on, "is that the world doesn't always appreciate things that are different. That's probably what is most unfair about it. When people don't understand something, or when it doesn't fit their idea of what things should be, they are afraid of it. That fear makes them do things that are hurtful and cruel. It's sad and terrible, but there's very little you can do about it."

The twins sat mulling it over, and Annelise asked softly, "What _can _you do about it?"

"You can refuse to go along when they are being unkind," I said. "You can be understanding and compassionate when others would be ignorant and hateful. You can show love and kindness and know that being different doesn't make you wrong or bad."

Their silence stretched on, and Ren asked slowly, "Why are you telling us this?"

I shifted Celine on my lap and gave the twins a serious but affectionate look. "You're going to learn it sooner or later," I answered, "and I would rather tell you now and help ease you into it a little at a time."

He glanced at Erik, sitting with his back to us as he drove the carriage and surely listening to every word. "Papa wears a mask sometimes," he said. "That's different, isn't it?"

I nodded. _Here it comes…_

"That's why people stare at him, because he's wearing a mask and they aren't."

"It is. It's rude, but they do it anyway."

"But he has a good reason!"

I knew what he meant, but I still felt something twisting in my gut, for the reason we had told the children and the real reason. "He does, and we know it, but no one else does and they don't care to learn. It's just the way things are, _mon cher._"

I expected some protestation at this injustice—after all, to an eight-year-old, there is nothing more important than fairness, or at least his own perception of it. But he just sat there, keeping his own counsel and lost in his own thoughts. To me, it was a sign of acceptance, and while I was relieved he had let the matter drop, I grieved for him. He would learn only too well soon enough.

Every passing moment brought us closer to I knew not what. No, that wasn't quite true; I _did _know what we were moving towards. I had seen members and patrons of the Opera scream and recoil in shock when they saw Erik's face. Our honeymoon had witnessed appalled stares and whispers of disgust. I knew what to expect when we stepped out of the carriage, but I still didn't feel ready for it. Erik's pain and humiliation hurt me enough, and I wondered how I would be able to stand against insults to Celine and the destruction of Rene and Annelise's fantasies.

Too soon, it seemed, we arrived at our destination. One by one we stepped out into the sunlight, and it was as though some internal switch had been thrown. I felt as if I was feeling for Celine what she wouldn't, and was shocked to be out, exposed, and vulnerable. I knew the first flutterings of panic that she didn't feel, gazing wide-eyed and alert at our surroundings and clutching her to me as if I expected someone to try and snatch her out of my arms. My legs stiffened as I caught myself between wanting to bolt back into the carriage and trying valiantly to resist that very impulse. We were here at last, and I wanted no part of it.

I felt a hand laid on my shoulder and I spun around, startled, but it was only Erik there at my side, his features as inscrutable as if they too were a mask. "Come on, Vivienne," he encouraged me. "We have to go."

Slowly, I nodded.

My nerves were stretched thinly and I felt as though, in hoping to remain unseen and unnoticed, I was terribly visible and attracting the eye of every living thing around me. I cast frequent glances at Erik, trying to read his thoughts in his expression, but he remained as impassive as ever. The twins raced ahead through the park and Erik and I stuck close together, with me still carrying Celine. As we walked, I kept her face turned to my shoulder and not allowing her to look around at all the unfamiliar sights for fear of someone seeing her. She resented being restrained and began to squirm fitfully, and Erik stopped me with a touch. "I'll take her, little phoenix. It's all right, I won't let anything happen to her."

How could he be so calm? We had barely been out for ten minutes, and I was already exhausted with anxiety! His poise had a gentling effect on me, though, and I trusted in it more than my half-wild apprehension. I handed her over to him and he held her in his arms, keeping her safe against him while letting her turn her head this way and that as she absorbed her surroundings.

Her blue eyes were bright and deliberate as most babies' are when confronted with new things, as they take in the details and commit them to memory, studying them as carefully as any seasoned scholar. Her hair shone in the sun like spun gold and her little hand reached out to touch the world. I had never seen anything so beautiful, but as we headed deeper into the park we came across more people, and I knew it was only a matter of time…

I cast one final look at Erik as I saw a young couple approach, and I knew he could see them too. I also saw what he had tried to keep hidden—he was _not _calm at all, the quiver in his usually steady hands giving him away. He never slowed or broke stride, and I matched his every step, putting my hand on his arm to assure him as much as myself.

The two lovers came upon us and they both inclined their heads to us, then their eyes fell upon Erik's mask, blazing fiercely as the sun struck the pristine white. Their expressions shifted to curiosity, and then they caught sight of Celine in his arms, staring at her mismatched face as she stared right back. They looked back up at Erik with shock and dawning comprehension, divining what lay behind that mask, and they hurried past in furious whispers.

As soon as they were gone, I looked up at him again; he was staring straight ahead, his expression stony. "That was a milder reaction than I was expecting," he said. "Usually, they're more open with their revulsion. And did you notice the way they looked at you? She with pity, he with stupefaction. She felt sorry for you, to have had to lay with me and bear this…chimera, and he was appalled you would consent to get beneath me. It must be coercion on my part, or perversion on yours, because what woman would choose this for herself?"

I had noticed, and I couldn't pretend it didn't bother me, but not nearly as much as the treatment of my husband and daughter. They could think what they wanted about me, as long as they left Erik and Celine alone. Finally, since the start of our relationship, I was beginning to learn what life at his side would truly mean: the two of us against the rest of the world. I had known and yet remained naïve, and the experience was opening my eyes to what I hadn't fully understood. Only now, we had children to think of and guard as well. I couldn't let my courage fail me.

Ren and Annelise had seen nothing of what had passed, and their faces were as cheerful and happy as ever as they returned to us. "The swans are out on the pond," Annelise said. "May we go see them?"

"Of course," I replied. "Just keep out of the water and stay where we can see you."

They hurried off to the water's edge, moving quickly but not so fast as to scare the birds away. Erik and I followed at a slower pace, stepping as warily as deer wandering through a pack of wolves. People strolled around the pond watching the swans, and while there can't have been more than a dozen, to me they seemed like a myriad of predators searching for prey. "Maybe we should go," I suggested. I wasn't sure I was ready for this after all, terrified for my chicks.

He shook his head, still wearing that carved expression. "We can't, Vivienne," he replied. "If we leave now, we'll never come back."

"I don't…I don't think I can do this…"

"You can, little phoenix," he told me gently. "For your daughter. I'm here with you, Vivienne, and you don't have to face it alone."

Oh God, I was so scared…but he was right. If I turned back now, I would never have the strength to return. I had to be strong for Celine, and he was there to keep me strong.

I nodded, took a deep breath, and we set off after Ren and Annelise.

* * *

_Erik_

I hadn't seen her look so afraid since the night we met, desperate to run away and hide and never be seen again. As much as I wanted to let her and even join her myself, I couldn't. She had been right to come here in the first place. I knew it wasn't humiliation or embarrassment that incited her instinct to flee, but her urge to protect her child. I loved her for it, but she had to stay.

"We can get through it together," I encouraged as we followed the twins, "like we always do. All right?"

She pressed closer and said, "I can't do this without you."

"And you don't have to. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

She reached for my hand and I knew she could feel how I was shaking, but I held onto her and we kept going.

Heads turned at our approach in the initial gesture of acknowledgment, and they stayed turned when they saw Celine. I saw every familiar reaction: gasps of shock, mesmerized stares, and appalled murmurs. Some edged away from us, too polite to let their discomfort show and yet still unwilling to stay near. Others turned their heads again and stared resolutely in another direction, trying to ignore us. And still others continued to watch and point, not caring how their rudeness stung.

All along, I had tried to remain in control and keep my own fear in check, holding onto Vivienne's belief that it would be different for Celine than it was for me, but it wasn't different at all. It was just the same as it always had been. Nothing had changed, and in fact only felt worse than before. I could bear insults to myself, but it was taking all of my courage to withstand their being directed at my little girl, and I wasn't sure I was brave enough to take it after all. The pain of it was excruciating, the more so as my first response to pain was anger. I felt rage boiling just beneath the surface at these ignorant bastards staring and muttering, but I bit back on it. I wouldn't show my children the violence of my temper, the animal I really was beneath it all; I didn't want to give them cause to fear me as well.

Annelise hurried over, her eyes lit up with excitement. "There's a baby out there!" she said in a raised whisper, pointing towards the swans. "There, beside its mother! Do you see it?"

I looked closely and she continued to point it out for me and Vivienne. "It's hard to see because it stays so close to its mother," she said, "but it's—there it is! Right there! See it?"

"I see it, sweetheart," Vivienne replied. "It's beautiful ."

Annelise paused, catching sight of all the people around us. "Who are these people?" she asked. "What are they staring at?"

Ren joined us, glancing from us to the onlookers and following every gaze. "It's Celine," he said. "They're staring at Celine…"

I didn't have the heart for words, and neither did Vivienne. We stood there helpless as everything spiraled away from us, unable to move or speak. The twins' eyes grew wide as they understood the whispers surrounding us, sounding as vicious and harmful as the buzzing of a hornets' nest, and I felt sick as I distinguished the words assaulting their ears.

Annelise went pale. "Do you…do you hear what they're saying?" she asked. "They _can't _be talking about her!"

I heard, all right, and I knew the words as if they were branded into my soul. Deformed, ugly, hideous, disgusting, monstrous…every last one struck me as if meant for me especially, but no. This time, they were meant for my daughter.

Ren had fallen silent and Annelise began to cry. One look at Vivienne and I could see how despite her struggle to hold herself together, she was still falling apart. Celine still looked around defiantly, paying no mind to anyone else and not knowing or caring what they thought of her.

I reached my breaking point. They didn't deserve to look at her! They would never understand her! She was an innocent little girl without a mark on her soul, and it wasn't her fault she looked the way she did! How dare they stare at her, like she was some kind of freak in a carnival side show!

I held her closer, the pain and anger I felt overwhelming me. If they wanted to stare at a freak, then I would show them something worth their malice. On an impulse spurred by love and agony, I reached up and took off my mask.


End file.
